Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Breathing Easy, Feeling Mellow

How can we sanitize the house adequately enough, to leave it in the hands of people we know and love,

and leave all of our furry and feathered friends in their care, and then just dash away on our adventure?

How?

Good questions.

Until yesterday, I had no answer.
I had anxiety, stress, worry, self-conscious-psycho-hoopla-babble, and a knot in my guts.

Every effort to put the house in exceptional order was derailed by some crisis, or another. Daily life here is full enough, and mustering the energy and time to get us over into The Land of Deep Cleanliness, Organization, and Serenity is a nearly improbable feat, for me, anyway. I do want to go to there, to TLODCOS, The Land of Deep Cleanliness, Organization, and Serenity, but I stray, I lose my way, stuff happens, I get bored.

Oops! Not sure it's proper to use "boredom" as an excuse for not having our Bird House in better order, but, well, it's out there now... so, come on... can we agree there is some mind-numbing stuff related to being a domestic goddess? And also, I resent the fact that as soon as the house is half way decent someone invariably decides to walk in and start something!! But, I cannot deny, I would much rather chase goats, write blog posts, bake bread, tutor Spanish, proof-read essays, build garden beds, make something, teach sewing... than hang clothes, or shred credit card solicitations. Yes, it's true, even I want to start something, more than I want to iron shirts.

Okay. Never mind all that. I had another purpose in mind for this post.

So... how can we just dash away on our adventure?

After Michael and Patricia came by, I now know the answer: We can go, by accepting the help and understanding of caring and compassionate friends, by trusting that dusty corners, and dirty laundry never really go away... not without sacrificing in some other area of life. We can make this trip because life is not simple, and messes aren't always about laziness or neglect. Some messes are about different priorities, and unforeseen circumstances, and choosing to do things rather than polish things. I have been genuinely and gently put at ease by my friends, and I even feel I am doing the universe a disservice by fretting so much about what I fail to achieve, when the truth is I am trying really hard to keep a lot of things safe, happy, engaged, and moving forward. I feel like Patricia and Michael see this, and accept me. A lot of people do, actually... I just need to turn down my own self-deprecating voice, and listen more carefully.

Dear Patricia, dear Michael,
Thank you. I know you will manage things, here, just fine, and this knowledge makes our trip to Maker Faire possible. It's not just that you've agreed to watch the cats, and feed the goats that helps me breath a sigh of relief, it's the kind things you tell me, the sincerity of how you reassure me, and make me feel like I am on a good path... these supportive gestures give me courage, and soothe my heart. I actually feel mellow! What a gift!

Enjoy the pool, though it's c-c-c-cold. Help yourselves to garden peas and spinach, fresh eggs. And thank you.

We want Michael and Patricia to come with us next year, to Maker Faire. So, I am thinking we need to build a Gypsy wagon that we can tow with our Green Goose, and in the wagon, we can bring all the chicas, goats, cats, the bunny, the automatons. Geoff? Geoff, what do you think? I think I am starting something...

Gypsy Wagon! Yey!! What a perfect idea.Don't worry about the state of your house. My friend came to water my plants once when we were away and she almost called the police, thinking we'd had burglars, but I just hadn't had time to tidy up very much before we left...she thought it was hilarious and told everyone....(weak smile) but she often said she wished she could get her own priorities right - like I had. And I know she meant it - she couldn't sleep if she'd left a cup unwashed and it was a problem for her. Keep starting things, Natalie, keep living. How could you do otherwise! Axxx

Great post, Natalie. Living your life is so much more important than tending to household chores, which never stay finished anyway. I know very well the worry about leaving all the critters behind, and I love the idea of a gypsy wagon.

Followers

Time Travel

Liberty, 2013

Chirp-Chirp-Chirp BirdHouse Notes

Sorry. I am practicing freedom of expression:

Wholly shite! I just saw our share of the travel expense for robotics, and I am peeling myself off the floor from sticker shock. In 2 minutes I found 5 highly rated ABNB places where Maria and I could stay for 1/3 the rate. It's not that I am "cheap." It's that I am cheap and have no income, and hope to save for my golden years, or at least put one more kid through college. It's supposed to be inappropriate to talk about money, tacky, I know, but I think it's highly inappropriate to spend beyond my means, or pretend as if I can keep up with the Joneses.

*sigh*

It's not as though it's fatal, but I do feel nauseated.

March 20, 2019

1:29 pm

Instagram... lots of thought about that, and questions. I have the kind of questions about IG that I'd rather not ask aloud, because inevitably it would only demonstrate my insecurity. But here goes... why don't more users demonstrate a little more reciprocity, some like for like engagement, a bit of kindness, gratitude, or even genuine humility? Social media algorithms seem to go right for my jugular, or maybe only my ego.

Laugh out loud: a beautiful woman posted a selfie, with agonizing apologies for doing so, because in her words, "I never do this! I can't believe I am posting a selfie, but sometimes it's ok to be 'out there!'" I thought she was being so modest and humble, and it intrigued me, so I went to her page... and it was true: there were hardly any selfies on her wall, but there was not a single picture that didn't include her. Her entire IG was hundreds and hundreds, adding up to thousands, of pictures of her.

March 20, 2019

12:52 pm

Ten minutes ago I sat down with the intention of blogging. I frequently "intend" to blog. I fancy that I am taking a break, not broken-up. But, once again, I am derailed by something technical and my Google search is not yielding a solution. I sit here, increasingly aggravated, and my shoulder and neck begin to wince and whine, and I ask, "Why? Why pursue this? Is it out of habit? Certainly, by now, I must realize that this blog will not be my career, a literary accomplishment, noteworthy for..." never mind. My point becomes muddled, my thoughts self-deprecating. I miss keeping stories and details, adding to the memory book, and as I get older, I can truly appreciate the practical benefits of the reminders and place holders this blog has created... I will really want to kick myself if I don't continue writing down even small facts, that in years to come will make us smile, or help us keep records straight.

But. As I said... something in iPhoto won't talk to my phone and I can't import pictures. I am so behind. At least, that is how I feel, because I want to be caught up, I want to share all the happy things we have seen, or accomplished, our triumphs, and things we have conquered, tamed, or turned over. I don't feel like it's anything I am obliged to do, it's just what I wish, for my own sense of satisfaction... our pictures, and memories, jotted down and saved, for happiness sake. Sometimes, I feel a bit of relief thinking that as I have been away awhile, most people will have forgotten about Chikebbllog by now (however I spell it) and that I can slip back in and just go on and on about my favorite socks, and how the sweet peas are taking over, and not concern myself a bit that I never did write a book, or talk to Terry Gross.

Maybe I am relieved to not be blogging, because I hate the moment that, inevitably, arises when I feel compelled to share something of the accident, the one back in December. How can I help it? It clouds my head, still, and gives me nightmares, pain, anxiety, and a stutter. Not a very bad one, because I find that if I speak slowly, or not at all, it's not so noticeable. On Saturday, I cried half a day, because I was served another subpoena. It's "only" 2 different hearings/trials, but they keep changing the dates, and then comes a new subpoena. And do you know what troubles me? What will I wear? Because... "first impressions" and all that, and really, I cannot go dressed comfortably, as myself, in jeans and a t-shirt that says "Take a bus, you drunk fool." No. I will have to go and face her and her attorney, dressed as me, myself, and I am sorry to say that I will appear as a gray, fat, old woman, that flinches when doors slam, or cars honk. I would rather stay home.